😜

‘Listen, I don’t have the time or patience for this,’ I said, getting irritated. Being a writer on a book tour doesn’t allow for much sleep—I had not slept more than four hours a night for a week. I checked my watch. ‘It’s midnight. I gave you my view. It’s time for me to sleep now.’ ‘I want you to read them,’ he said. We were in my room at the Chanakya Hotel, Patna. This morning, he had tried to stop me on my way out. Then he had waited for me all day; I had returned late at night to find him sitting in the hotel lobby. ‘Just give me five minutes, sir,’ he had said, following me into the lift. And now here we were in my room as he pulled out three tattered notebooks from his backpack. The spines of the notebooks came apart as he plonked them on the table. The yellowing pages fanned out between us. The pages had handwritten text, mostly illegible as the ink had smudged. Many pages had holes, rats having snacked on them. An aspiring writer, I thought. ‘If this is a manuscript, please submit it to a publisher. However, do not send it in this state,’ I said. ‘I am not a writer. This is not a book.’ ‘It’s not?’ I said, lightly touching a crumbling page. I looked up at him. Even seated, he was tall. Over six feet in height, he had a sunburnt, outdoor ruggedness about him. Black hair, black eyes and a particularly intense gaze. He wore a shirt two sizes too big for his lean frame. He had large hands. He reassembled the notebooks, gentle with his fingers, almost caressing the pages. ‘What are these?’ I said. ‘I had a friend. These are her journals,’ he said. ‘Her journals. Ah. A girlfriend?’ ‘Half-girlfriend.’ ‘What?’ He shrugged. ‘Listen, have you eaten anything all day?’ I said. He shook his head. I looked around. A bowl of fruit and some chocolates sat next to my bed. He took a piece of dark chocolate when I offered it. ‘So what do you want from me?’ I said. ‘I want you to read these journals, whatever is readable. . .because I can’t.’ I looked at him, surprised. ‘You can’t read? As in, you can’t read in general? Or you can’t read these?’ ‘These.’ ‘Why not?’ I said, reaching for a chocolate myself. ‘Because Riya’s dead.’ My hand froze in mid-air. You cannot pick up a chocolate when someone has just mentioned a death. ‘Did you just say the girl who wrote these journals is dead?’ He nodded. I took a few deep breaths and wondered what to say next. ‘Why are they in such terrible shape?’ I said after a pause. ‘They are old. Her ex-landlord found them after years.’ ‘Sorry, Mr Whats-your-name. Can I order some food first?’ I picked up the phone in the room and ordered two club sandwiches from the limited midnight menu. ‘I’m Madhav. Madhav Jha. I live in Dumraon, eighty kilometres from here.’ ‘What do you do?’ ‘I run a school there.’ ‘Oh, that’s. . .’ I paused, searching for the right word. ‘. . .noble? Not really. It’s my mother’s school.’ ‘I was going to say that’s unusual. You speak English. Not typical of someone who runs a school in the back of beyond.’ ‘My English is still bad. I have a Bihari accent,’ he said, without a trace of self-consciousness. ‘French people have a French accent when they speak English.’ ‘My English wasn’t even English until. . .’ he trailed off and fell silent. I saw him swallow to keep his composure. ‘Until?’ He absently stroked the notebooks on the desk. ‘Nothing. Actually, I went to St. Stephen’s.’ ‘In Delhi?’ ‘Yes. English types call it “Steven’s”.’ I smiled. ‘And you are not one of the English types?’ ‘Not at all.’ The doorbell startled us. The waiter shifted the journals to put the sandwich tray on the table. A few sheets fell to the floor. ‘Careful!’ Madhav shouted, as if the waiter had broken some antique crystal. The waiter apologized and scooted out of the room. I offered Madhav the club sandwich, which had a tomato, cheese and lettuce filling. He ignored me and rearranged the loose sheets of paper. ‘Are you okay? Please eat.’ He nodded, his eyes still on the pages of the journal. I decided to eat, since my imposed guest didn’t seem to care for my hospitality. ‘These journals obviously mean a

This is very good married garden with many facilities

Best marrige garden

Good place for wedding

Good for marriage party & any function

Awesome marriage garden. Mandor Area’s biggest parking facilities is here ✌🏻😍😘👌🏻

Gate is small other things good

Nice marraige garden

Good garden for any facsan

Nice marriage garden

Its an lovely place to host an events

This place is your best but so expensive

Nice marriage place

Good marriage place

Nice place to visit in evenings

Best parking space in a garden

Nice for marriage

Ok

Large Space for any party or marriage event.

Better garden

Awesome place for wedding

Full space of parking and marriage

Superb

Good

Nice

Nice looking

Easy to walk

Nice

Bestesr

Nice

Good

Nic. Garden

Good

Good

Good Garden

Best

Garden

👎👎👎👎

Shaandaar

Fabulous

Fabulous

Good

On